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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020504">2,000 Light Years from Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchflower/pseuds/marchflower'>marchflower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dear Mr. Fantasy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avengers: Endgame - Fandom, Avengers: Infinity War - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Endgame, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Hurt Peter Parker, Marvel Universe, Nebula &amp; Tony Stark Friendship, Nebula (Marvel) Feels, Nebula (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Other, Peter Parker Lives, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Tony Stark, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:02:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020504</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchflower/pseuds/marchflower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what it means to be a survivor, Peter realizes. There is no comfort in it. There is only the knowledge that he will live with this feeling for the rest of his life.</p><p> </p><p>Peter survives the Snap. In the aftermath, he struggles with putting himself (and Spider-Man) back together again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nebula &amp; Tony Stark, Pepper Potts &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Nebula, Peter Parker &amp; Pepper Potts &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Dear Mr. Fantasy [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654522</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>316</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Erebus Calls</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Thanos snaps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels his hair rising along the back of his neck, creeping and slow, at the same time a cold curl of nausea begins to whirl in his stomach. He blinks his eyes and Mantis, prone before him, bleeding from a gash across her cheek, focuses her black eyes on him and gasps. The sound is weak and strangled and as her mouth opens, a small perfect circle, the hand that Peter was holding crumbles to dust and wafts away in the hot breeze blowing across their battlefield. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, he’s frozen, uncomprehending, and in that minute Mantis’s arm slips away, then her legs. Her face disintegrates, her mouth still open, and left in her place a pile of ashy red dust tumbles away across the parched surface of the ground. The nausea turns to hot bile in the back of Peter’s throat; he doubles over and retches, splattering flecks of vomit across the top of his feet, and he knows then:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We lost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He staggers to his feet. He was so preoccupied with Mantis’ fading that he didn’t think to look for any of the others. He’s alone, caged in by the wreckage of the ships, teetering on the edge of a small moon sized crater, completely and utterly alone. His heart races painfully in his chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>May, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>May-</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Parker!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shout jolts Peter. He stumbles in a circle, his ears ringing, heart hammering. Who was -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter! Pete!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Mister Stark.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels the relief slosh over him like a barrel of cold water. He lurches forward, angling around the corner of the crashed ship, his injured leg buckling in protest. Around the corner Tony is leaning against a wall of rubble, shaking. His face is grey and the look in his eyes is unfathomable. When he sees Peter, he slumps to his side and covers his mouth with his hands and squeezes his eyes shut. There are streaks of tears on his dirt stained face. He is trembling and when Peter reaches him, says to him, “Mister Stark-”  Tony reaches out with one hand and yanks Peter to him, so violently that Peter is caught off balance and careens into him. He stays that way for a long time, his face pressed into Tony’s shoulder, smelling the cloying reek of metal and burnt skin and blood. It takes a long time for Tony to stop shaking, for his grip to loosen. Peter slides out of it eventually and they both sprawl against the rubble, their legs spread before them, boneless and weary and silent.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We lost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter thinks again. The reality of it hasn’t set in. He closes his eyes and tries to put Mantis’ face back together in his head, particle of ash by particle of ash. He won’t think of May, he tells himself, not till he knows, not till they can get some information, somehow-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Around the corner Peter had come from a rock skitters. He’s on his feet in an instant, webs aimed; beside him, Tony’s repulsors whine to life. Around the corner steps the blue girl, her blaster drawn, her black eyes opaque as she approaches. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thanos’ daughter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Peter remembers belatedly, but he can’t recall her name. She stops just shy of them and blinks from Peter to Tony to Peter again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My father has won,” she tells them in a flat voice. “There is nothing left for you here. Why do you linger?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Peter says, “We’re kind of stranded.” She cocks her head at him; her blaster comes down to her side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Quill’s ship is here,” she tells him. “I am taking it. You may come with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool,” Tony says. His voice is bright enough that Peter knows he doesn’t think that this is a cool solution at all. “Ah, just one question, uh- Thanos Junior? Can I call you that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nebula,” she hisses.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool name,” Peter says without thinking. “Way better than Thanos.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula’s lip curls. “I am leaving,” she says. “I will find my father and kill him. My mission is not altered by the failure of yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All right, all right, cool your jets.” Tony steps around Peter, swaying a little. “Thanos was heading to Earth, right? My home. That’s where you’re going, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay, cool. Cool.” Tony turns his head, jerks it at Peter. “We’ll come with then. Cool with you, Pete?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wants to point out that his only other option is to stay on Titan and die alone, but Tony’s looking sadder and older by the second, so he doesn’t. He nods. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They follow Nebula to Quill’s ship, a shiny orange slip of a thing sitting on a plateau some distance away. Peter walks beside Tony. Nebula walks ahead and to the side of them, so she can keep them in her peripheral vision. She doesn’t holster her blaster.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once inside the ship, Tony goes immediately to the cockpit and starts turning things on, murmuring to Friday. Nebula stands in the doorway and tracks his movement with her bright eyes. Peter stands beside her and watches the way her shoulder stiffen and twitch with every movement Tony makes. Finally, she says, “It will fly?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. For how long? No idea.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula moves to the side as Tony comes out of the cockpit. His eyes settle on Peter. “We have enough fuel to get us within a couple thousand miles of Earth,” he tells him. “Friday can try to send messages as we get closer, but no telling what the communications systems are going to look like down there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Half of all humanity, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Thanos had said. Peter’s throat tightened. He clenched and unclenched his hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We have to try,” he says with a resolution he does not feel, and Tony nods at him, solemn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Atta boy,” he says, and they leave.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Space is dark and cold. Within the first few hours of leaving, Tony has prepared and beamed out several messages, intended to be received by the satellites at the compound and the Tower and SHIELD. “I think we’re too far away,” Peter tells him nervously from his perch atop the table in the main room of the ship. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No shit,” Tony mutters. His ire rubs Peter raw. He is hungry and tired. His leg is screaming each time he puts weight on it and the ever vigilant stare of the alien girl is playing havoc on his spider senses. He knows Tony isn’t irritated at him, but it feels that way, and at that moment, it feels like the very tip of a very large iceberg, and he says, before he can stop himself, “So stop wasting time with it then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony blinks at him. He looks more shocked than angry at Peter’s snarl, but he doesn’t say anything, just holds Peter’s gaze for a long minute, until Peter’s anger burns away into embarrassment. He ducks his head and looks down at his swinging legs and Tony says, gently, “Pete- kid, you want to try to get some sleep?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t, but he knows it will make Tony feel better. There’s a couch along the wall with some blankets and a pillow. Peter limps over to it and allows himself to curl into the thick blanket, into himself. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep but Tony dims the lights and in the shadows, Peter listens to and finds comfort in Tony’s soft mutterings to Friday. His exhaustion rises to meet  him, sharp and sudden like a tide, and Peter falls into it.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The first day in space is long and quiet. On the second, Tony shores up all of their food supplies and draws up a rations chart. Fourteen days at the bare minimum calorie intake needed to sustain life. Peter’s allowance is nearly a third the amount that Nebula and Tony’s is. “I can eat less,” he tells Tony, “If it gives us another couple days-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Your metabolism works at almost three times the speed of an average human’s,” Tony interrupts bluntly. “Not up for discussion, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the third day, the infection in Tony’s chest becomes too much to ignore, and he lists about the whole day, shiny with sweat and shivering. Peter finally convinces him to nap in the pilots chair, facing the rainbow aura of space, and when he leaves him to sleep, he finds Nebula sitting on the table. She has barely spoken for three days, but now she cocks her head at Peter and says flatly, “Your father will die if you do not heal him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not my father,” Peter bristles. “And I’m not a doctor. I don’t heal things.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a superhero.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The word feels like a bleeding wound in Peter’s chest. He takes an hour to scrounge up all the first aid he can find, then, with Nebula’s help, clears a space on the floor in front of the table  for Tony to lie. Tony rouses when Peter touches his shoulder gently. “What?” He asks, throatily, and Peter tells him, “We- we have to take care of your wound.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony frowns at him, but his eyes can’t quite seem to find their focus. They are glossy and red. “I’m fine,” he breathes, and Peter sets his jaw, wraps his fingers around Tony’s wrist, feeling the slow, sluggish beat of his pulse. Tony blinks in surprise at the contact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to let us fix you-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kid-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If we get back and May is gone, I- I need- I can’t just let you die in space.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s eyes finally find their focus. His free hand jerks up and over and comes to rest on the back of Peter’s hand. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. You win, Underoos.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Afterwards, Peter barely remembers it. Nebula does the brunt of the work, methodically scraping pus from the wound across Tony’s abdomen and chest, emotionlessly wiping blood from her hands. She cauterizes the wound without blinking her eyes; Peter, who threw up twice, decides she’s pretty bad ass. Afterwards, Tony sleeps on the couch for eleven hours and wakes up just in time for the engine transponder to break.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His fever still burns but Tony pulls them from hyperspace and they list in space, nearly lifeless amongst a thousand glittering stars. Nebula hisses when he does this. “This is not safe space,” she tells him darkly, and Tony practically throws a data pad at her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then get the fuck over here and help me figure this shit out,” he snaps. Peter scurries along the wall to where he stands, knee deep in engine parts, far away from the biting eyes of the stars. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can help,” he says, and Tony rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously,” he says. “Get down here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is six hours before they are on their way again, but a new problem arises: cracked fuel cells. The three of them work through the long hours of the whole fifth day, tired and irritable and increasingly frustrated with the state of the ship. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sixth day is the first day Peter notices Tony’s cheekbones. They are more pronounced, the flesh hollowing below them. Nebula notices him studying Tony as he sleeps and she says to him, quietly, “He is starving.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that. “Can you give us some good news? Like, you know, once in awhile?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula narrows her eyes at him but says nothing. That evening, Peter takes his meal to the cockpit to eat alone. He saves a third of the ration bar in his pocket and after Tony has gone to overlook the engine room, he adds it back to Tony’s pile. His stomach hurts too much to sleep for hours afterwards, but he feels better about it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the ninth day, Nebula catches him putting the food back. She says nothing, just watches from the doorway as Peter straightens, his shoulders tight. “Don’t tell Tony,” he whispers to her. Her lips thin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You care for him very much.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite everything - there exists in Peter’s chest a warm cove that he keeps Tony in. Right now, it is the only space he feels for certain that everything is okay. The spaces where he kept May and Ned feel cold, hollow. “I do,” he tells her. She nods her head and slips away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the tenth day the ship breaks again. Another transponder issue; again, Tony pulls them from space and they labor in the engine room. Tony is growing increasingly frenetic, swearing explosively at the machines and yelling at Friday. It’s a mood so unlike Peter has ever seen. He stays to the back, out of the way, doing his best to keep his head down. They are only out of commission for three hours this time, and as Tony keys the ship back into hyper drive before collapsing into the pilot’s seat, Nebula says stiffly from the gunners mount: </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We will not reach Earth before the food runs out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They are silent. Peter watches Tony chew on her words. His jaw works, his hands clench and unclench. Finally, he says, “You and I, Neb- we can survive off a little less. We can stretch it a few more days. We’re close enough now that some of my - my messages might be getting thru.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can have a little less,” Peter supplies, and Tony cuts him a severe look. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he says. “You’re already on the edge of what’s healthy for you right now. No.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His tone brooks no room for argument. Peter leaves them and goes back to the couch he’s claimed as his. He’s not tired but he’s tired of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them, </span>
  </em>
  <span> of being the youngest, the one with the quietest voice out of their trio, and the only escape from the feeling of inadequacy is sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the first time he dreams of May. Previously, his sleep has been nothing more than a black pit of exhaustion but now, he stands barefoot in his old suit on the beach at Coney Island. The plane burns behind him, hot and red, and before him, May is standing in the water. She has her long skirt hiked up above her knees and she is laughing, her hair snapping in the wind, but when she turns her eyes are almond shaped and black, and her mouth is a perfect small circle and she’s molting, her hair and her face and her arms holding her skirt turning to dust- </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter wakes up screaming. He can’t stop - the terror is clogging his throat, raw and cold and real. It pushes everything out of him: every ounce of control he’s maintained to this point, every bit of will power he has. He screams and Tony and Nebula come skidding out of the cockpit, both of them on high alert and bright eyed. When Tony sees Peter he kneels over him and knots his fingers in Peter’s sweaty hair and tells him, “Pete- Pete- you’re okay. You’re okay. It was a dream. You’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter stills but he has no control over himself at this point. He feels like he is drowning in the terror of it - in the not knowing, in the hunger and fear and in the dark well of space. He bursts into tears and can’t stop. He buries his face in his hands and turns away, but Tony wraps his fingers around Peter’s and pries them away, then crushes Peter to him and holds him there. His cheeks, covered in days of stubble, scratch Peter’s forehead but his arms are grounding, firm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter sobs until he gags, and then Tony rubs his back, cradling the back of his head, whispering. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks, but he can’t speak. For a long time he sits crumpled against Tony’s shirt and Tony let’s him. It’s the most intimate they have ever been but Peter can’t focus on the absurdity of it right now, of Iron Man hugging him in the middle of space, and says instead, his voice muffled by Tony’s shirt, “Do you think May is-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he can’t finish the question. He feels Tony’s arms tighten around him, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t know the answer to that and he won’t give Peter false hope. For now, this is all he can do.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the twelfth day they run out of fuel. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the thirteenth, Nebula catches Peter putting food back into the rations cupboard. She is looking weary, her eyes less bright, her cheeks hollow. She says to Peter, “You should stop doing that. He will be furious.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t look at her. He feels weak, his head a little light. He says, slowly, “I don’t have anyone but him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t reply.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the fifteenth day, Tony teaches Nebula how to play paper football. He folds up pieces of silver foil and she studiously watches him, her brow crinkled above her nose. “What is the point of this?” She asks darkly, and Tony rolls his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The point - Pete, sit there, across from- yeah, there. The point, my strange alien friend, is to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fun.” Nebula spits out the word, as if holding it in her mouth burns her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Tony says. He flicks the foil football across the table at Peter’s upraised fingers. It nicks his thumb and bounces onto his chest. “Fun. First time hearing of it? Gosh, kids these days, am I right, Pete?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter pins the football on its end beneath his thumb, lines up for his shot. “Mister Stark, I’m one of the kids these days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are, aren’t you? Jesus Christ, what I wouldn’t give for some middle aged-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The football clips him in the chin and Peter laughs uproariously. Tony sputters, affronted, then laughs too. Nebula watches them curiously, her mouth a thin line - but then Peter opens his mouth to speak and there’s no air there. Suddenly his face is pressed against the cold grates of the floor, his head spinning and white around the edges. He tastes blood in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Pete? Pete, what the fu-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hands grab his shoulders, then flatten against the back of his neck. Fingers prod for a pulse. “Pete, stay there, okay? Just a second- atta boy. You okay? How’s your head?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blood in his mouth has set his stomach twisting. He swallows, feels it slide thick and coppery down his throat. His head is spinning. “I don’t-I don’t know what happened.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of Tony’s hands holds the back of his neck, the other buries in his hair. Peter can’t see his face, but he can feel the tension in the trembling of his fingers. “Just stay down a minute, okay? Don’t speak.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lies there until his head clears. Then, slowly, carefully, Tony and Nebula tug him into a sitting position, then to a standing. His head spins again and black gathers at the corner of his vision when they do this, and its slow progress to the couch across the room, where they lay him back against his pillows and Nebula brings him a small glass of their precious, precious water before going to sit on the table.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony hovers. It’s what he does best. He sits beside Peter, asking to feel his pulse, asking how his head is, asking if he’s going to throw up, asking him to take another sip of water. Peter’s stomach spasms each time the water hits it; he’s so hungry that its painful to let the musty water settle in his stomach. He clenches his jaw to keep from throwing up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mister Stark,” he manages to say at last, through gritted teeth, “It’s okay. I’m-I’m fine. Just a little dizzy-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You should be eating more. You should-“ Tony breaks off and buries his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, his shoulders hunched. Peter worries for a minute that Tony’s going to fall down now too. But after a moment he lifts his face and sharpens his eyes to Peter’s. “This isn’t working.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula is silent, stiff. Peter holds his breath. Tony looks from one of them to the other. His face is tight with emotion. “This - we have to rework the rations. We’ve got three days left of food and water at this rate. One of us- Pete, you need it the most-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop.” Peter’s ears are ringing. His voice cracks as he says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You can’t keep- you can’t do this. My life isn’t more important than yours.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s mouth flattens into a line. “You’re wrong,” he says quietly, and Peter almost throws the glass of water at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Almost</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because just as he’s considering it, Nebula says from the table:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He is concerned for you, Tony.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Tony says gruffly. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he’s- he needs this more than me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Peter says hotly, at the same time Nebula announces:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter has been putting his food back into the cupboard.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gapes at her. Tony gapes at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Peter snaps at Nebula, and Tony </span>
  <em>
    <span>explodes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s worse than the ferry incident- worse than Peter sneaking onto the spaceship three weeks ago. Tony is </span>
  <em>
    <span>livid. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He has never screamed at Peter, not like this- it’s not just Tony raising his voice or Tony barking at him, it’s Tony stepping away from him and shouting loud enough that Peter’s ears rings. It’s all the pent up anger Tony has carried since Strange got beamed up off of the street of Midtown. It’s Peter never listening, Peter being stubborn, Peter making stupid decisions, Peter being impulsive and reckless and dangerous and everything that all of that entails. It’s Peter not being </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Peter can’t take it. He can’t sit there and let Tony dress him down like that, like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>- he shouts back, his voice hitching, his throat raw. He can’t stand to meet Tony but he pulls himself up on the back of the couch, inch by fucking inch, until he’s crouched against the armrest, sweating, swearing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s madder than he can ever remember being. He shouts at Tony and Tony shouts at him and neither of them give ground, neither of them falter. It’s ugly, Peter knows, it's ugly and it's a wedge splintering between them when they need to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>together</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Now that he’s screaming he can’t stop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula watches them from the table top, cross legged, her elbows on her knees and her fingers steepled beneath her chin. Her face is flat and cold. When they break for a breath, Peter because he’s crying now and Tony because he looks like he’s about to have a heart attack, she asks without inflection:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You are both without doubt that neither of you are related?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The off-kilter humor catches them unawares.Tony blinks at her, then at Peter, then scrubs his hands over his face, turns and, without a word, leaves, sealing the cockpit door behind him. Peter waits a second, trying to catch his breath, before swinging around to Nebula.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” he spits, and the words leave a charred taste in his mouth. He’s never ever leveled those words against another person in his entire life. He feels off balance now that he has. “You- you said you wouldn’t tell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I did not,” Nebula rebuts quietly. “You assumed I would not because I did not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter snarls, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s going to kill himself for me and I never asked him to. I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>him to. He’s an egomaniac, his- his self sacrificial bull shit-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He is trying to protect you,” Nebula whispers, and Peter shouts:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I need him to protect </span>
  <em>
    <span>him!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His words hang in the air between them. Nebula does not move off the table but she lowers her hands to her knees and straightens her spine. Her voice is detached when she finally speaks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanos killed my family when I was a small child. When he slaughtered my people and salted my world, he took me and he used me. He broke me apart, inch by inch. He stripped me of who I was and he made me into who he wanted.” She pauses. “For the whole of my life there was nothing but this: Thanos, my father, demanding of me things I could not give and then hurting me when I could not meet his requests. He did not care for me. He cared only for what I could be to him- an asset, a tool…a </span>
  <em>
    <span>weapon</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thanos made me a weapon, when I was just a child, when other fathers were making their daughters into </span>
  <em>
    <span>princesses</span>
  </em>
  <span> or women, he made me a weapon and he whittled down my existence into just a sharp edge for him to cut whomever he wanted with.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t speak. Inside of him, there is a small ball of shame uncurling in his stomach. Nebula goes on:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For all my life there was no one to look out for me- not for me, the weapon, the blade, the killer- but for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the child. No one but my sister. I did not understand then- I still do not think I  understand her fascination with helping me. I did not understand why she reached out, over and over, when I was not willing or able to meet her even half way.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter hears himself say, “I didn’t know you have a sister.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula meets his eyes evenly. “She is no longer,” she whispers, her voice thick. When she doesn’t go on, Peter asks, softly:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What was her name?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gamorra.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gamorra</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Peter remembers that name, rolling off of Peter Quill’s tongue, desperate and angry:</span>
  <em>
    <span>“Where’s Gamorra?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She was - with Quill?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula nods heavily. “She loved him very much,” she says. “She loved him very much and I could not see why. I did not know love. I did not know where she found her capacity for it, in what small part of herself she found it could grow. It wasn’t until- until Thanos had taken her back, until I knew he had killed her, that I knew. She loved Quill and his strange band of friends because she had once loved me. In me she had kept that small seed alive until she found him, until she found someone who might water it for her.” She met Peter’s eyes and he was mortified to see the tears that stood there, swimming in the inky darkness of her eyes. “I think you are that person for Tony.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sucked in a deep breath. It was shaky and ragged and wet. Nebula did not look away from him, was not embarrassed of the effect her words were having on him. “Gamorra protected her own heart by first protecting me. Sometimes that is all we can do to save ourselves. Sometimes, the only way we can keep our own heart safe is by protecting the ones we love, whatever the cost.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels weak and weary. He slides down on the couch, buries his face in his hands. He feels sick with shame. There is movement, and then Nebula is sitting beside him, her shoulders bowed as she leans in to say to him:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Losing you when he could have saved you would destroy him. There would be nothing left of Tony Stark to return to Earth.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter draws in a shaky breath. He knows she is right- he knows that since that day in the Compound, when Tony saw him clearly for the first time, that it has been this way. He doesn’t know what role Tony expects him to fill, but he knows that Tony needs him to be there to fill it. He asks, “How do I fix this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of facing Tony after- after </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> almost makes Peter wish he was dead. He shakes his head. “I can’t- I can’t do that. You don’t understand. He’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad </span>
  </em>
  <span>at me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Talk to him,” Nebula says, “Or I will push you out of the airlock.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter blinks at her. She doesn’t smile or even blink back. “Are you kidding with me right now?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t think she’d actually do that, but he doesn’t know for sure that she won’t either. It’s enough to get him to his feet. “You’re insane.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula’s gaze is flat. “I’ve been told.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure if that’s a joke either. He backs away towards the cockpit and she watches him go without movement. He opens the cockpit door quickly, before his resolve leaves him, and goes in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Inside, Tony is not sitting in the pilot’s chair. Instead, he sits next to it, cross legged, hunched over his Iron Man mask. It is damaged, nearly shredded in the fight with Thanos, but Tony is creative and adaptive and he’s been able to use it to send messages and record things. He looks up at Peter as he enters; his face is empty of his previous anger but there is no warmth in his eyes. Peter closes the cockpit door behind him, unsure of how to proceed, and the silence that hangs between them is awkward and cold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he says, “Nebula said that if I didn’t come talk to you she would push me out the airlock.” Tony snorts, but Peter can’t tell if he’s amused or just making noise to acknowledge him. Tony turns back to the mask in his hand and Peter slowly eases away from the door  and sinks to the floor in front of Tony.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Up close, the man is all sharp angles and sallow skin. The bags under his eyes are bruised to the point of blackening; his shaggy, half grown beard does nothing to hide the hollows in his cheeks. His lips are cracked and flaky. It almost hurts to see Tony like this - Tony Stark, Iron Man, previously invincible- so he turns away. Beyond the glass dome of the viewport the universe sits, fields of crimson and lavender and verdant green spread like cream across the swath of velvet sky. Stars shine cold and bright, like pointed teeth waiting to bite. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in space</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter thinks, but it holds none of the awe it once had. Now inside there is a cold, gnawing hollowness. He is stranded in space, watching his mentor starve to death in a dead ship, and he is helpless to do anything about it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One time when I was really little,” he begins abruptly, and Tony jerks his head up, as if he’s surprised Peter is speaking to him. “Like- before my parents died, we went on vacation to Florida and we went to the Kennedy Space Center and it was- it was like the coolest thing ever, Mister Stark. I mean, the coolest thing ever then. I’ve seen way cooler things since then- sorry, sorry, not the point. Anyways, there were all these cool modules there and like astronaut training for kids and I got to try on this space helmet and it was huge, like, my dad had to hold it above my head because it slid right over my shoulders.” Tony cracks a smile at that. Peter licks his lips, then hurries on, before he can lose sight of where he’s going. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And I just like remember that whole day thinking about how cool it all was, how cool it would be to be up here in space, going places no man has gone before and all that- and then, you know, New York happened. And all the aliens... it was like we were all realizing for the first time that there was probably more danger than wonder out there and that we weren’t alone and I think for a lot of kids, maybe, the whole dream of space kind of got- darker.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony furrows his brow. “Yeah, attacking aliens tend to do that to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter waves his hand. “Let me finish, Mister Stark, okay? Just let me - just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hear </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, okay?” Tony closes his mouth on something he was about to say and nods. His fingers are motionless on the top of his Iron Man mask. Peter takes a breath. “And you know, the whole city watched you carry that nuke into space. I did, with Aunt May. She kept trying to turn the tv off but I wouldn’t let her. I bet the whole world saw that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s face contorts. He looks both sad and incredibly angry at the same time. Peter went on, “The thing is- everyone knew when you were going up into that wormhole that you probably weren’t coming back. Just like when you followed Doctor Strange onto that ship, you knew you probably weren’t coming home. I know that’s why you didn’t want me to come. I know- I know that you’ve spent a really long time trying to save yourself, you know, by fixing your company and inventing Iron Man and getting the Avengers together. I know you’re worried that when you die all that’s going to left of your legacy is a weapons company or a thousand dead in Sokovia and - I know that you want me to help you with that, that, like, somehow, if you can help me be better than you then it means you did something you don’t have to be afraid of others seeing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s eyes are bright. Peter feels tears, cold and thick, building in the back of his throat. “I just - I know what you’re trying to do. I just - even if it all ends here, Mister Stark, even if there’s no rescue and we die out here on this spaceship, you don’t need to worry that I’m not there to show the world a better side of you. There were a million other kids watching you carrying that nuke. I wasn't the only kid in the first grade with an Iron Man lunchbox. Your legacy isn’t just me. It’s all of them too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For a long moment, Tony holds his gaze. Then he ducks his head, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Jesus Christ, kid, you’re a poet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And just like that- all the angry tension dissipates from the air. Peter smiles, shakily. “Does that mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m still pissed,” Tony shakes his head, squints. “But...less pissed?” Peter smiles again, more confidentially, and Tony reaches over the Iron Man mask to ruffle Peter’s hair. “You’re a good kid, Peter Parker. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You literally just called me a shit head like ten minutes ago,” Peter points out and Tony laughs. The sound of it echoes around the cockpit, bouncing off the glass viewport and the instrument panel. Peter imagines that even the stars can hear it.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the eighteenth day, they run out of food. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is one ration bar left, one bottle of water. Tony pours the water evenly into three separate cups, splits the ration bars three way. They sit around the table like some imaginary family and eat slowly, silently savoring the gritty taste of the bar and the stagnant warmth of the water. After that- there is nothing. Tony goes to the engine room and Nebula disappears into what Peter knows was her sister’s quarters and Peter curls himself up in the pilot's chair with a blanket and lets the far off twinkle of the stars lull him to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the nineteenth day, Peter can count his ribs by running his fingers down his sides. They don’t speak; there is nothing to say, and talking uses energy none of them can spare. Tony spends long hours in the engine room and Nebula doesn’t come out of Gamorra’s quarters. Peter puts on his mask and asks Karen to play back recordings of his old patrols, and for a long time he imagines he’s back in Queens. He can almost feel the rush of the drop and the thrill of the arc and the scream of the wind in his ears. He would give anything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to fly like that one more time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is no good way to prepare yourself to die. Peter knows it is coming. On the twentieth day he starts to feel cold. Tony finds some huge coveralls in one of the rooms and makes Peter put them on. He wraps him in a blanket and makes him sit crushed between him and Nebula on the couch but it does no good. They are all so thin and ragged that there is no warmth to share. They are no more than a pile of bones, waiting for their long day to come to an end at last.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sleeps through the next day. Foggy, weak dreams occupy him. He dreams of May, of Ned and MJ, of Uncle Ben and his parents and Happy Hogan and Pepper Potts. They all slur together into one dark mass of people and when he wakes up, he is crying. His stomach hurts so bad he can hardly sit up and his lips and throat are on fire. He is dying- he’s not even sixteen years old and he is dying alone in space.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Not alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, something whispers to him. On the twenty second day, Peter finds Tony sitting in the pilot chair. The Iron Man mask is at his feet. Tony is sluggish and barely responds when Peter touches his arm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter thinks. He can’t think of anything to say or do to make this easier, so he does nothing. He sits beside Tony’s legs and rests his head against the side of Tony’s knee. Slowly, weakly, Tony’s fingers twine themselves into his hair and stay there. He feels the weight of his palm against his head like a millstone around his neck. They don’t speak; the two of them pass into sleep together.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he wakes up, some hours later, it is to Nebula’s touch on his shoulder. She is sitting beside him- at least, he thinks she is, because he can’t see her. Everything is lost in a flare of blinding white light coming through the viewport. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A ship, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks dully, but he is too disorientated to put his thoughts into words. Tony’s hand stirs in his hair and Nebula’s hand stiffens on his arm and the flare fades away into a glow of red and gold and blue and -</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a woman. Her blond hair wafts around her chin and her eyes find Peter’s. She smiles, sternly. She is dressed in blue and red, a prettier version of Captain America’s suit, Peter thinks. Then she speaks, and her words don’t get lost in the cold vastness of space; they reverberate through the glass, into the cockpit, all the way down to the bottom of that dark place in Peter’s soul.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kind of a weird place to hang out,” she says. “Ready to go home?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Erebus Wanes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is what it means to be a survivor, Peter realizes. There is no comfort in it. There is only the knowledge that he will live with this feeling for the rest of his life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Peter survives the Snap. In the aftermath, he struggles with putting himself (and Spider-Man) back together again.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It takes them six hours to get home.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony doesn’t move from the chair, and Peter doesn’t move from his side. Nebula sits beside him, her legs dangling down behind the gunner’s mount, her shoulders stiff. Her grip on Peter’s arm is cold, her pulse fluttery. He stays with his head against Tony’s knee and watches the universe pass them in a stream of white stars and splashes of vivid color. He thinks he might cry but there is nothing left in him to give.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They enter the earth’s atmosphere with a jolt that sends Peter slamming down onto the ground behind the gunner’s chair. Behind and above him, Nebula crouches, holding Tony in his seat. Peter’s lip is bleeding and he licks at it as he slips his mask back on, whispering Karen awake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Peter,” she says warmly, and he pulls himself into a crouch, his legs shaking under the weight of his body. Outside the viewport, the world is on fire, friction from the speed of their descent into the atmosphere. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Record this, Karen,” he says softly, and watches as the fire and smoke clear away and row upon row of white clouds rise to meet them. Then they are inside them, wrapped in a blanket of cool white; then they are below them, the blue grey water of the Atlantic filling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sun sets as they travel. He watches it burn across the sky, painting the cockpit in great streaks of orange and pink. As it slips beneath the distant rim of the ocean, New York City appears on the horizon. It is glittering in the dark, half as bright as it used to be, and Peter feels the hot sting of tears in his eyes. He clambers back up next to Nebula and Tony and takes Tony’s hand as the city rushes by below them. Then they are gone, flying over patches of empty forests and dark towns and suddenly, below them, the glow of Avengers Compound beckons to them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They land. Peter watches in a haze the figures running to them: he recognizes the stomping of Colonel Rhodes and the slight figure of Doctor Banner- and there, between them, willowy and thin, Pepper Potts, shading her eyes against the glow of their savior as she brings their ship down to nestle in the field. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Help me,” Nebula tells Peter. She is bent, one of Tony’s arms slung over her shoulders. Peter comes to his other side and gingerly lifts him from the seat, but he can only make it as far as the table, strewn with their cups and foil footballs and debris, before he has to give up. Nebula hisses, “Sit- we will come back,” and he sinks onto his haunches, gripping the table’s edge for support, shaking and breathless. Nebula keys the ramp door open and </span>
  <em>
    <span>air</span>
  </em>
  <span> floats in, fresh air, smelling like grass after rain. Peter almost cries to smell it- almost, because then the woman who carried them home breaches the door and comes to crouch in front of Peter. She is still glowing; she smells like warm metal and bright sunlight and her eyes are somber as she says:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be Peter Parker.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He licks his lips, coughs. “Yes- yes, ma’am.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles somberly. “There’s a lot of people waiting to see you, Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May?” He croaks before he can stop himself. His heart has started hammering, triple time, in his chest. It’s so loud that he’s sure she can hear it too. But she only wraps her arms around him, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders, and helps him towards the door. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Outside, it is cool. It is bright. It is solid ground and a breeze swaying the evergreens beyond the hangar bay and the Compound with every light on and people, so many people:  Tony on the ground, tangled up in Pepper’s arms, being held up by Rhodey, flanked by Natasha and Bruce. Nebula, sitting silently on the gangplank, her shoulders hunched inward, her head in her hands. Peter wants to stop, wants to ask her to come with him, but then Steve Rogers is there, his huge shoulders blocking Peter’s line of sight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Carol,” he says, his voice kind, “I’ll take him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter tries to remember that he’s supposed to hate Captain America now, at Tony’s behest, but he can’t. He feels like jelly as he is passed from Carol’s arms to Steve’s. He opens his mouth, gasps for air, and Steve says, softly, “It’s okay, kid. It’s all right. You’re home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter breathes, “Captain- we-we lost, sir, I’m so sorry, Thanos…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahh, Queens,” Steve says, so gently that Peter has to hold his breath to hear him.  “You did the best you could.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter knows that’s a lie. There was more- there’s always going to be something more that he could have done. He knows it and Tony knows it and he expects that one day, Steve Rogers will know it too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he can’t speak that right now- his lungs are burning and his legs buckle and give out on the first step down the gangplank he attempts. Steve picks him up, like he’s carrying a sleeping child to bed, and spirits him down to the ground, where Pepper tugs away from Tony, her face wet, and stops Steve to press Peter’s face between her palms and kiss his forehead. It’s so unlike Pepper Potts that he blinks, shocked, and she murmurs, “Thank you,” against his skin, like he had anything at all to do with Tony’s survival. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t thank me yet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say, but his tongue feels like sand in his mouth, and anyways, they are all on the move suddenly, headed as one for the compound. Peter tips his head back against Steve’s arm and watches the night sky; above their heads, stars are wheeling into each other, falling down to blur into the lights of the compound, and he doesn’t even realize they are inside until Happy is there, taking a staggering Tony by one arm, talking to someone Peter can’t see behind them. There’s a wheelchair and they press Tony into it- there’s another one and Steve lowers Peter, and Happy bends down beside him, his eyes huge and full of some emotion Peter can’t place. He touches Peter’s cheek and Peter asks him, desperately:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“May?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy doesn’t answer, and they don’t even make it to the elevator before Peter passes out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sleeps. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It is long and warm and gentle. He dreams about webbing through the city, so high his head grazes the clouds at the tops of his arcs and everything is light and bright and nothing is cold. He can barely remember the awful black cold of space, can barely remember the red dirt of Titan, can barely remember-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He wakes up,slowly at first, then all at once. He can’t move his head and there is something in his throat and something in his arm. His legs are heavy; his whole body is heavy. He has to pee. There are shadows moving in and out of the light, all of their voices running together, but he can’t speak. The something in his throat catches, gags; he coughs, and someone lays a hand on his forehead and something pricks his arm and he dreams again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he wakes again the thing is gone from his throat but the room is dim. The lights are gone; the shadows are gone; the voices are gone. His eyes can barely focus as they roam: a window with a teal black-out curtain pulled down, a floor lamp softly glowing in the corner, a dozen machines humming and beeping gently. In a chair next to where he lies Rhodey is asleep with his head tipped back against the back of the chair and his arms folded across his chest. Peter goes back to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he wakes for the third time, he can open his eyes all the way. The curtain is scrunched at the top of the window and golden dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in. He moves his head, then tentatively tests the rest of him, wiggling his toes and fingers, stretching one leg and then the other, stretching each arm and then sitting up. He is still weak but not like he was. He sits forward and shakes his head as the door opens and Steve Rogers steps in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks surprised to see Peter sitting up. “I don’t think you should be moving,” he says, and Peter replies:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Mister Stark? Is he okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony is resting. You’ve been- you’re all okay.” His voice hitches as he says it. He presses a button on the wall. “It’s good to see you awake.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How- how long has it been?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Almost three days.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter leans back against his pillow and closes his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Three days</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, and then asks, “Has anyone - has anyone heard from my aunt?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t answer. When Peter opens his eyes again, there are doctors coming into the room. They want to check his vitals and fuss with the needles in his arms and give him ice chips to sip at. While they do this Steve leaves and returns with Pepper, who comes to sit on the edge of Peter’s bed and asks the doctors to give them a few minutes. When they are alone, the door closed, she takes one of Peter’s hands in both of her own and squeezes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, honey,” she says in a thick voice, and Peter </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He closes his eyes and turns his head away. The tears are already coming, hot and salty; he tastes them in the back of his throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t tell me,” he whispers, and Pepper slips closer, wrapping her long arms around him and tugging him forward until his head is pressed against her collarbone, tucked in under her neck. It’s not the same as it was with Tony but it's close enough, and Peter cries, great barking sobs that rip him to pieces from the inside out. Pepper rocks him, her hold on him fierce. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We lost, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We lost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is no coming back from this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>People come to see him. Steve Rogers, Rhodey, Hawkeye, Natasha...there are so few of them left. Sam Wilson is gone. Bucky Barnes is gone. T’Challa is gone. Peter feels emptier and emptier with each visit. He has no idea what to say to these people. They aren’t there because he means something to them, they’re there because he means something to Tony and they are trying to make it up to him. They’re there because he is a kid and he’s alone and they feel bad for him. The only ones who are vitally interested in him, in Peter Parker, are Happy and Pepper, Nebula and Tony. But Tony does not come, and neither does Nebula.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He feels trapped in his room, tied down to his machines, weak and exhausted. He can’t sleep because every time he closes his eyes, the gaping black maw of space closes its mouth around him, swallows him whole. The IV lines pull at his skin every time he moves; after his second sleepless sunrise, he rips them out. A dozen alarms scream from the machines in his room. Doctor Cho comes in and scolds him. He asks for food and they bring him pudding and ice chips. He asks to see Tony and they tell him he’s resting. He asks to shower and they tell him he shouldn’t try to move yet. Someone tries to sponge bathe him and he knocks the pan of soapy water off the tray, so hard it crashes into the wall across the room and soaks the attending nurse. After that, Pepper comes in and sits on his bed again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, honey,” she begins, and Peter cuts her off angrily:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pepper looks hurt but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she reaches out and takes his hand. When he tries to pull away she pulls back, pinning his arm to the bed. A month ago she wouldn’t have been able to hold him like that; now he is so decimated that he can barely struggle.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, look at me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her voice is soft. There is no edge to it. He knows he’s being mean, that Pepper wants to help him, that she cares about him as someone more than just someone who means something to Tony, but he doesn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t help me,” he says. “You aren’t May.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. You suck at it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s crossing a line, but it's a line he’s already crossed a hundred times in his head, so what’s one more step past that? He wants to hurt her, he thinks suddenly, meanly- Tony came back. Her family came home to her. She has no idea what this feels like. She has nothing she can offer him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute, she releases his hand and leaves without a word. After she’s gone, he sulks a little longer, looking out the window,  where the training field runs into the forest, and he thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span> I could just leave.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not one person here are his parents. He’s been orphaned, twice over now. It’s the kind of sad story Disney would gobble up but played out in the real world is very unappealing. He sits up, carefully, stopping to take deep breaths before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor. When he stands, they shake but hold his weight. He’s halfway across the room to the bathroom when the door opens and Happy steps in.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter scowls. “Doesn’t anyone here knock?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy looks distinctly unhappy, and Peter braces for the telling off he knows is coming, but Happy merely asks him, “Ready to shower?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You smell like you haven’t showered in three weeks.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well…” Happy steps across the room, yanks open the bathroom door, gestures in. “Get to it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter watches him uncertainly. Finally he asks, “You aren’t here to yell at me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I here to yell at the sixteen year old kid who was stranded in space for two and a half weeks? No, Peter, I am not here to do that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s throat works. “Fifteen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardon?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I’m fifteen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy hesitates, then shakes his head, and Peter realizes dully that of course- his sixteenth birthday came and went while he was stranded in space. May had a party planned: him and Ned and MJ and Abraham-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His chest feels tight suddenly. There’s no air in the room. He grabs the edge of the dresser as the walls begin to spin around him- and Happy has him by the arms and in seconds he’s in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet, his head down between his knees, Happy’s hand on the back of his neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Breathe, kid,” he says. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Peter thinks, but he doesn’t say that. He takes a few shaky breaths, and when the spinning ceases, Happy helps him up straight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You good?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter feels sick. “I - I - can you do something for me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy’s eyes soften. “Sure, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you’re- you’re really busy but-but-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Spit it out, Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you see if any of them- you know, my friends - if any of them are still around?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy nods slowly. “Of course,” he says. He leaves Peter sitting on the toilet, turns on the shower, adjusts the commode inside of it. “I’m going to leave the door open a little,” he says. “I know it's embarrassing, but if anything happens to you, if you fall or need help or anything, I need to hear, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s face burns. “You don’t have to do this. There’s nurses.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean like the one you threw the bedpan at?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter glares. Happy retreats, leaving the door slightly ajar. Peter showers slowly, unable to stand even long enough to wash his hair. Under the stream of water he counts his ribs, rubs his fingers over the knobs on his spine. His skin hangs from his bones; afterwards, he stares in horror at himself in the mirror. His cheeks are pitted, the skin stretched tight over the bones of his face. He looks like a famine victim. There is nothing in Spider-Man in that face in the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We lost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Happy checks. Ned has vanished, along with his whole family. MJ is gone but her little sister and step father are not. Abraham is here but both of his parents are gone and he’s already left the city. Happy gives Peter the list of his classmates and he scrolls them, that hollow space in his chest deepening and widening with each name. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Half of all humanity</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Thanos had promised, and Thanos had delivered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula finally comes to see him. She looks well; she is dressed in black leather pants and a new top. She fared better than he and Tony in space, and it shows.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sits up in bed when she comes in. “Finally,” he tells her, and she stops at his bedside. Her face is as blank as ever.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One of Quill’s team remains,” she says. “The creature they call Rocket.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter raises an eyebrow. “I have no idea who that is.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He is the one the others call a trash panda.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter gawks. “He’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>raccoon? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you kidding me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I do not kid. I believe we have gone over this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He picks at a hangnail. “Have you seen Mister Stark?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula’s mouth tightens. “Briefly. He is not well.” She tells him about the meeting, the argument with Steve, about Tony getting up in his face and calling him a liar. Peter’s stomach clenches when she tells him this. When she is done, she clears her throat and looks over his head at the wall.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am leaving,” she says, and Peter’s heart sinks. “With the others.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mission was not altered by the failure of yours. I believe we also went over this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So?” Peter puts his thumb in his mouth and bites down hard. He tastes blood as the hangnail tears away. “What are you going to do, go put up wanted posters all over space? Thanos is gone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We know where he is,” Nebula tells him quietly, and he freezes. “Thanos used the stones again. We go to find him and reverse what he has done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s heart begins racing. He throws off the covers and stands, ignoring the way the room swims around him. “I’m coming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>coming</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He shouts. The words bounce off the walls of the room. Nebula says nothing as he paces to the dresser, finds a pair of socks, struggles to put them on. He has nothing else besides the sweatpants and hoodie he wears- his suit is somewhere, he’ll have to find it-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter,” Nebula says again. There is an edge in her voice he has not heard before. “You are not fit for battle.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” he says to her, and he means it. He storms past her and out the door into the hallway. After a minute, she catches up with him, gripping him by the shoulder and spinning him to face her. She shoves him into the wall, so hard that his head bounces off of it and he sees explosions of light behind his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not mistake my kindness for weakness,” she snarls at him. “I came to tell you despite the wishes of the others because I have come to look favorably upon our relationship. But do not think that means I will allow you to speak to me as if I were some creature clinging to your feet.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Or what?” Peter challenges. His head is spinning. “There’s no airlock to push me out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nebula regards him for a long minute. Then she steps back, releasing him; without her support, he crumples and slides down the wall. He can’t stand. She leaves him there and disappears down the hallway without a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rhodey finds him there, twenty minutes later. He doesn’t say anything to Peter about the tear tracks on his face; he helps Peter to his feet and brings him back to his room, puts him back in his bed. Peter tries to catch his eye but when he does he wishes he hadn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nebula shouldn’t have told you,” he says firmly. Peter opens his mouth but Rhodey lifts a finger, cutting him off. “You are not coming, Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s breath hitches. “I need to,” he says, then, louder, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to. You- you can’t tell me to stay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can,” Rhodey says. “I am. You’re an Avenger now, aren’t you? Well, Avengers take orders. Avengers </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen </span>
  </em>
  <span>to orders. This is not some fun space adventure, all right? You are not coming.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s eyes are burning. He doesn’t want to cry, but the tears slip out anyways. Rhodey’s face softens but his voice only grows more stern. “This is an order, Peter. Okay? You. Stay. Here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look at Rhodey as he leaves. He watches out the window until Quill’s ship lifts past, an hour later, angling up towards the canopy of clouds, without him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They are gone for five days. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter dreams every night of them: stranded in space, Quill’s ship useless, running out of food and water and slowly wasting away. In the end of each dream, the only one left alive is Nebula, and she sits by herself in the gunner’s mount, Tony’s wrecked Iron Man helmet crushed in her hands, watching the stars and waiting for her own death. He wakes from each dream shivering, his heart monitor spiking. He spends each waking moment waiting for the moment when it changes: when they reverse the snap and his phone rings and on the other end it’s May or Ned or MJ.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It never rings.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>We lost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony finally comes to see him. He is in a wheelchair, pushed by Pepper. Peter is sitting on the loveseat in front of the window in his room, scrolling his StarkTablet, and when they come in, Peter is mortified that he drops it and immediately bursts into tears.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony tries to make light of it - “Jesus, Pete, I don’t look that bad, do I?”- but he hauls himself onto the seat next to Peter and reaches over to pry Peter’s hands off his face, to hold him, like he did on the ship. “Peter,” he whispers against the side of his head. “Pete, kid, you’re okay. You’re okay.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Peter croaks. He is ashamed of the way his voice breaks. He can’t stop crying. He is aware of Pepper’s fingers on his head, feathering through his hair. “She’s gone, Mister Stark, they’re all gone.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Pete. I know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We lost.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We did.” Tony’s grip tightens on Peter. “I know this sounds awful to say- but, Pete, this isn’t the end of the world.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Pepper tells him. “That was awful.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pep, come on, I rehearsed this, remember? Peter, kid, look- this sucks, all right? All of this sucks. It might never get better. But, I mean, you’re so strong. Look at everything you’ve gotten through. You’re going to get through this too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not the point, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks. It isn’t about him getting through this, it’s about all the people that are never going to get a chance to make it through. It’s about everyone they failed. It’s about everyone they lost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t say that. He can’t speak that guilt out loud. Words will not remove this weight on his chest, slowly crushing him. They won’t dissipate his anger, the heat of which he hasn’t ever felt before. This is what it means to be a survivor, Peter realizes now. There is no comfort in it; there is only the knowledge that he will live with this feeling for the rest of his life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He makes himself stop crying. It’s not hard- he’s been crying for three days now and he feels more hollow with each outburst. When he lifts his head, he is ashamed of the way Pepper looks at him, like he didn’t say the things to her that he did. It makes the ache in his chest deepen. “I’m sorry,” he says to her, quietly, and she smoothes his hair off of his forehead and smiles sadly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like to have lunch with Tony and I?” She asks him. “He’s just graduated to real food.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All Peter’s eaten for three days is pudding cups. “I don’t think I’m supposed to,” he tells her, and she winks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We won’t tell.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, Happy brings another chair. Peter is off of his IV now, free to roam as long as he doesn’t try walking for any distance greater than a hundred feet. They go outside to the training field, which is empty. The cooking staff brings them fresh bread and plates of cheese and meats and a milkshake for Peter. They eat sitting on the lawn, the weak April sunlight warming them, wrapped in blankets to ward off the breeze. Tony and Pepper bicker and Happy tells jokes and Peter sips at his milkshake - strawberry, with chocolate chips on top- and tries not to think about where the others are, right now, if the fuel cells will crack this time, if they’ll find Thanos...he keeps his phone beside him, the screen face up, and tries not to think about what it will feel like when it lights up with May’s caller ID. He tries not to think about how it will feel if that never happens again.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t talk about space, or Titan, or Thanos or Nebula or the Snap, but Peter knows they are all on Tony’s mind. When he doesn’t think anyone is looking, Tony’s face changes. Peter catches it a couple of times: the sudden furling of Tony’s lips, the darkening of his eyes. It only lasts a couple seconds, a minute at most, but Peter shuttles it away to the back of his mind to dwell on later, after he is alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That night, after the nurses have hooked Peter back up to his heart monitor and he’s eaten dinner, he asks Happy, “Is Mister Stark okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy is sitting in the chair beside Peter’s bed, reading a magazine. “He’s going to be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mean is he going to be okay. I mean, is he okay </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy closes the magazine slowly, sighing. “You know Tony. He- he compartmentalizes. He internalizes. He blames himself for the result of everything he has ever had a hand in, good or bad, regardless of what he did or didn’t do to spur the resolution along. He blames himself for things other people did and things he didn’t do. This - this is a much heavier blame to carry, but it isn’t different. Tony’s Tony. He’ll be alright.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter runs his thumb along the sleek silver handrail on the side of his bed. “I listened to the recording of the meeting. The one - the one where he called Captain America a liar.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy sighs. “Of course you did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he- did he really ask for that? A suit of armor around the world?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No one listened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hindsight’s a witch, kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can say bitch, you know. I’m not ten.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy shakes his head. “It wasn’t that no one listened, it was that - something like that would never have come to fruition. Do you know how much money that would have cost? More money than even Tony has. More money than Tony and Bill Gates and Jeff Bezos combined. It was a great idea, but it wasn’t doable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even with the nanotech?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Even then. Tony knew that, which is why he didn’t push it. It was a pipe dream. Even after the aliens in New York, that’s what everyone told him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s sniffs. “Do you think it would have kept out Thanos?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Potentially.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think - do you think if Tony proposed it now, people would finally listen to him?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Happy looks mournfully at Peter. “I don’t think so. Kinda seems like the worst thing has already happened, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His phone doesn’t ring. He has therapy with some of Doctor’s Cho staff- they make him stretch and move and hurt. His metabolism almost killed him, they say to him. He stands in the shower afterwards, ignoring the bench along the long tiled wall, and tries to see past the spasming of his leg muscles and the soreness in his abdomen to a time when he’ll be able to lift a bus or drop from a forty story building. How dumb he was to tell Tony once: “I’m nothing without the suit.” Spider-Man went deeper than a layer of reinforced spandex; Spider-Man </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter Parker, and Peter’s beginning to think that only one of them made it off of Titan alive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When he comes out of the shower, Pepper is waiting for him, sitting on a chaise in the entry room of the lockers. Peter stops when he sees her, acutely aware of how he looks in just his sweatpants: stick like arms and a concave chest and ribs so prominent they catch shadows from the fluorescent lights of the ceiling. He hurries to slide on a hoodie, even though the speed of it makes his head swim. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Mister Stark all right?” He asks when he comes back out, and Pepper smiles at him and stands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s napping,” she tells him. “Do you want to get lunch?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He does. They sit inside because it is raining today, in a large room overlooking the hangar bay with it’s massive window, where they can see the rain and the wind whipping the water in the lake into a frenzy. Peter chews his sandwich and thinks about the others; maybe they’re going to come back in this storm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Doctor Cho tells me you’ve gained some weight.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter blinks at Pepper. She’s sitting on the long couch beside him, a fruit cup cradled in her lap. She is studying him, her eyes focused. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no easy way to answer that. He doesn’t even want to try. He takes a bite of his sandwich and asks, around a mouthful of ham and Swiss and mustard, “Do you think they’ve found Thanos yet?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pepper’s forehead creases. “Maybe,” she replies softly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So it could be any day now-“</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stops, looks at her. She asks, softly, firmly:“How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His sandwich is stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallows, hard. “They have to fix this, Miss Potts. They- I don’t know how to come away from this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pepper puts her fruit cup down gently on the table in front of them and turns to face Peter fully. “No one expects you to,” she tells him. “Peter, honey- this isn’t going to be the sort of thing anyone can fix in a day. This- this is a long term thing. You aren’t going to gain all your weight back in a week. You aren’t going to get better immediately. Tony isn’t. None of us are.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her face blurs. Peter looks away, wiping angrily at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just- I just need to. There isn’t- there doesn’t feel like there’s anything left of me, and it really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really hurts.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pepper slides closer to him. She doesn’t offer him a hug, or try to touch him. She just sits very close, her hands tucked between her thighs, and tells him, “You know that even without Spider Man, even without your suit, or your super strength, you still have value, right? Peter Parker has so much value. You know that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t even- I don’t even feel like him anymore,” Peter whispers. “May- May helped me with that. And without her, I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t know a part of me that isn’t part of her.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Pepper doesn’t answer him. He chokes back the sob clawing at his throat, and goes on, his voice shaking, “I don’t- I don’t know what I’m going to do. I didn’t have anyone except her.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You have us.” Pepper places her hand on the side of his face. She doesn’t ask him to look at her, doesn’t ask him to respond to her at all. “Peter, as long as there is Tony and Happy and I, you will never be alone. I know - I know I’m not May. I could never try to be. But - please, whatever you think you might need us to be, let us at least try.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t look at her. He watches the rain slap against the glass window, and remembers those long days, sitting in the co-pilot's chair with nothing to look at but the never changing depth of space and thinking that he was never going to see another rainfall again. In the cold dark hole at the bottom of his soul, something rustles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” he whispers to Pepper. She smiles, and the storm continues on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The others come back. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Thanos is dead. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The stones are gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter is not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Avengers are a group shattered, fragmented, torn. Peter watches from a corner of the room as Clint leaves, as Tony and Steve argue, as Natasha drinks. Carol Danvers - Captain Marvel, she calls herself- watches with cool detachment. Nebula comes to sit with Peter. Thor is already gone, back to New Asgard. Bruce Banner is packing up his lab. Rhodey is on the phone with Washington.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There is no unity in this, the aftermath. There is no coming together; no bonds of family reforged. Everyone is angry and sullen and drawing away to form their own little islands of self decimation. It comes to a catalyst when Tony, still bone thin, still using a walker, steps away from the table, away from Steve and Natasha and says: </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what? I’m done. I’m out. I don’t need this. After- after everything we have tried to do- it’s too late. I’m done.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony has quit before. Peter knows that this time, it’s real. So does everyone else. They watch in mute silence as Tony leans against his walker and exits the room. He is not hurried, he is not defeated, he is just - gone. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter remembers watching the footage of the Battle of New York on YouTube, replaying some parts over and over again. He remembers the thrill of them all coming together, the sort of bubbling hope he’d felt when he’d realized that this- this was the sort of team that changed the world. How far they had come since then, how much they had grown… never in a million years did he ever think that he would be sitting in the same room as them when the final nail was driven into their coffin. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He goes after Tony. Tony needs to know that he still has a team; that he has Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and Peter. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have Spider Man again, but he can give him Peter in the meantime. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Natasha catches Tony before Peter can. He hears her voice around the corner and he stops in the shadows of a doorway and listens. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tony… I know you. You won’t be happy. You won’t be happy playing Tony Stark without Iron Man.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t Iron Man for a long time. I can do it again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s still work that needs to be done. With our resources - Tony, we are the exact people that the world needs right now, that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>universe </span>
  </em>
  <span>needs right now. We can still do a lot of good. We can still </span>
  <em>
    <span>help </span>
  </em>
  <span>a lot of people.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A silence, heavy, hangs in the air. Peter holds his breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Natasha, I can’t try anymore. I - I - we tried. And it came to nothing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thanos won. See, that’s Steve’s problem. That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>problem. You don’t know when to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I do. I have to. I- up there in space, watching Peter die? Knowing I was dying? That helplessness - it takes too much from a person. I can’t risk that. I can’t do that - not to myself, not to the kid, not to Pepper, ever again. I mean it. I’m done. The compound is yours. Do what you want with it. You need money? Okay. Take it. Just don’t - don’t ask me to sacrifice anything that I love for you, or Steve, or - or any of you, ever again. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hot tears make their way down Peter’s cheeks, drip off his chin, the tip of his nose. He wipes at them, and Natasha speaks:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If you leave, take the kid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter’s heart stops. Tony snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s an Avenger. He’s a free man now. He makes his own decisions.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s barely sixteen.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not my place to tell him where to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It has to be someone’s.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another silence. Then Natasha says, in a weary voice:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not asking as an Avenger, Tony. I had to make the same choice as he does, at the same age- and I made the wrong one. This is a compound, not a home.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs training.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs you-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll fuck him up-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tony.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them speak. Then Natasha is leaving, her footsteps echoing down the long hallway. After a minute, Tony’s shuffle resumes. Peter does not follow him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes back to his room and lies on his bed and watches the shadows from his machines flit across the ceiling, in and out of the small orb of light cast by the lamp in the corner. It starts to rain again, a gentle hum against his windowpane. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A knock sounds softly on his door, and as he pulls himself up against the pillows, it opens slightly and Nebula slips in. She doesn’t speak but comes to his bed and climbs on it, settling on her knees, so close to Peter that he can hear her breathing. She reaches out and takes his hand and presses something into his palm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am leaving,” she says. Her voice flickers with some emotion Peter can’t place. “There is work for me elsewhere. We have a new mission. My father is dead but his legacy lives on and I will dismantle it, world by world, until Thanos is nothing more than a phantom in a child’s tale and the fear of him is replaced by something brighter.” She smiles then, and it is both sadder and more beautiful than anything Peter had ever hoped to see. “Keep the seed alive inside yourself, Peter. You could not be who you are without it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She leaves, closing the door behind her. Peter opens his hand, unfurling his fist slowly. In his palm, a crinkled wedge of silver foil glitters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes to Tony and Pepper’s suite and knocks on the door. There are voices behind it, then it opens cautiously. Pepper, in pajama pants and slippers and an MIT sweatshirt, frowns at him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Peter, what - why are you here? It’s one in the morning. Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sleeping?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hesitates, then shakes her head and opens the door wider, beckoning to Peter to step in. He does, ducking under her arm. Across the pristine kitchen, in the living room, Tony twists around to stare at him over the back of the couch. His face is cast in shadow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kid? What’s going on?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter presses his fist to his side, feels the blunted edge of the foil football dig into his finger, and he says, bravely, “I don’t know if I can be Spider-Man anymore. I don’t - I don’t know if he’s still in me. If he’s not- is that okay? Or is- is Spider Man the only thing you needed from me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony closes his eyes. His face sags. “Oh, Peter,” he says, softly. “Kid. You really- you really have to ask?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Peter doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know the answer. Tony doesn’t open his eyes. Finally, he says, “Tony Stark has value too, you know. Not Iron Man- Tony. Tony does.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tony’s eyes open. In the light, they find Peter’s and they hold him there, one long second that stretches out into eternity. Finally, he speaks, his voice just barely audible over the humming of the rain.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pete, will you come to New York with me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The foil football itches in his hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There is no coming back from this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Peter thinks, and he answers, quietly:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Inside of him, something small and warm plunks down into the center of that quiet dark space, and begins to grow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>WOW. Thank you to everyone for your great response to the first chapter. I really meant to have this up ages ago but well- it feels like we were living in a whole different world then. Please stay home and stay safe and healthy!</p>
<p>I’m hoping to have the beginning of another work in this series up within the next few weeks. In the meantime, I hope you guys continue to comment and kudos! Happy reading!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Because I still haven’t gotten over Infinity War or Endgame.</p><p> </p><p>This is a two part story that’s part of a larger series I’ve been working on. Please comment and let me know what y’all think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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